


A Midnight Tryst

by 100dabbo



Series: Quincey and Seward - Headcanons and Ficlets [6]
Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Married Couple (Sort Of), Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, POV First Person, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: Ficlet: A visit to Arthur's country estate, and Quincey and Jack are put in separate rooms.
Relationships: Quincey Morris/John Seward
Series: Quincey and Seward - Headcanons and Ficlets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578952
Kudos: 14





	A Midnight Tryst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cattycat1310](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattycat1310/gifts).



**Dr Seward’s Diary**

Our visit to Art’s estate has been going brilliantly; the gorgeous relaxing countryside does well for our lungs, so Godalming says, and I have to say I agree. Quincey is liking it too, one can see the glint in his eyes that the rural environment gives him, and never before have the three of us had such a good time together. Though, that being said, I must confess one ill of out retreat to the country…

With Arthur’s obvious ignorance to our relationship comes the separate rooms, and while it was just the thin wall separating us in that wide guest wing, the frustration was getting to me more than ever.

It was midnight, near enough the morning, and those cold sheets were truly taking their toll; not to mention the relentless thoughts racing through my head of what Quincey might have been doing, sitting in his own bed without me. I kicked the sheets off of my legs like a frustrated child and stood from it, staring at the barren mattress, panting though my nose, totally vexed at the fractious situation the two of us were in. Though, I know this wasn’t truly justified; our secrets were our own to keep and it wasn’t the fault of Art that we were kept apart. Still, I clenched my fists and left the bedroom, walking out to stand in the guest wing corridor, dressed in nought but a night shirt – one of Quincey’s I might add. 

Last night was, truthfully, the first time I’d put my own lust before anything; my dignity, my composure, my decorum – everything but him was in the farthest corner of my mind as I loitered behind his door; its shiny, brass handle being the only thing to separate me from him. My cool hand touched the metal, the gold band on my finger quietly clinking against it, and I squeezed it tight in my hesitation. He could have been sleeping peacefully and I was to disturb him from his peaceful slumber; he might have been reading the paper that he’d missed in the morning and be forced to begrudgingly put it down in order to pay me attention; perhaps he would have been drinking, a glass of whiskey in his hand, waiting for me join him and share one in front of the fire…

Or, in his withdrawal from me, I could have found him lying in the soft sheets of his bed with his mouth wide open, his eyes closed as he pictured his fantasy in his mind as his hand perfectly wrapped itself around his lustrous length, panting my name through each careful stroke in heavy, laboured breaths…

I turned the handle, that possibility alone making me harden, and to my shock and joy, I found him performing exactly that. His eyes were screwed shut, his legs lay akimbo, and his fist furiously stroked. I shamelessly stared with unblinking eyes. One could see the exerted sweat gleaming on his bare legs; his torso still covered by another one of those thin cotton shirts. I stood stock still, my mouth shaping into a grin as I watched, and it wasn’t until he opened his eyes by chance to notice me there that he took his hand away from himself and I shut the door.

Naturally, he was flustered slightly, though the brazen man still held his integrity, sitting up on his bed to greet me with the usual formalities:-

“Well, good evening, Jack, I-“

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we, Quincey?”

The urge to interrupt him had never risen in me before, and so to illustrate it before him was rewarded generously with that lascivious grin of his, his brown eyes passing over me once before they locked onto my face. Those strong legs stretched wider apart, letting his member take sole focus. 

I made my way over to the bedside, letting my tongue slip pass my lips and trace across my teeth. I stared down at it, wet and rock hard. Either he’d spat on his palm, or he was close to his finish. Or both. I blinked my heavy lids with a purposeful slowness and crept onto the mattress, bending myself down between his legs with my palms gently resting on his firm inner thighs. 

“Art’s in the residential wing, right?” Quincey asked as he looked down at me with those twinkling eyes. I could observe that his chest rose and fell with a rapid speed - his breaths and his heart were the doing - and as I lay there between his legs, I thought for a moment that it was as though our personalities had been reversed; he the nervous and hesitant one and myself the confident leading man. Though still, this did not mean I was not to relish in being his subservient. I answered his question with one of my own:-

“And if he wasn’t?”

His eyes glinted in the darkness; the bright moonlight streaming through the window and that one candle by his bedside being the only light with which to see his facial expression. He let out a single chuckle and slid his hand onto the soft nape of my neck, then drifted it upwards, following the curve of my head to grip his strong fingers on the back of my skull. He moved his hips up, that tempting length swaying before my soft lips. He opened his mouth again and gave me my command:-

“Suck it, Jack.”

His grip strengthened, his short fingernails tracing on my scalp, and so I obeyed with my smiling lips, taking it across my tongue with a languorous ease, rewarded with a deep, yet muted groan from the depths of his throat, the replacement of his dry palm with my wet mouth gladly gratifying him with the pleasure he deserved. And with just that single swipe, I tasted the pre-ejaculate dribbling from his slit, at which point I knew he was soon to be finished. I gave him a few more passes with my lips, hollowing my cheeks per his instruction and the encouraging pushes of the hand splayed behind my head, and then I came up to look into his eyes once more to tell him what I wanted:-

“I want you to fuck me now, Quincey.” The profanity could just roll off my tongue in his presence, and whenever I dared to use it, I could see his eyes light up even more. He smirked and held my head tighter, replying with a tease:-

“Sorry, Jack, I didn’t quite catch that,” His tongue slipped itself across his lips in a slow, wet movement. The saliva shone in the flickering candlelight as his lips moved again, “What was it you wanted?” That smirk of his grew into a wider smile as he taunted me.

My hands tightened their grip on those firm thighs, and I crawled my way up from between his legs until my face was at his level; lids narrowed, and teeth embedded in my bottom lip. Then, blinking slowly, my mouth drifted close to his ear whereby I repeated my desire in a delicate whisper:-

“I want you to fuck me...”

As he heard it, his free hand made its way to my hip and gripped, a purposeful dig of his fingers into the flesh before he stroked my skin with his thumb and hummed in his deep, soothing tone. The hand still on the back of my head slid back down to my nape, and he pulled me away to gaze back into my eyes with burning lust.

I knew he liked to question what it was that I wanted because of the way he’d ask me every time we would join in our carnal union; how it made him that much harder to hear me say what he already knew. It was the waiting for it that aroused him, the anticipation on both our parts for what we craved, and his ability to withhold it gave him the perfect dominance and control over what I might receive from him, despite the certainty that he would deliver it before the night was over.

“Fast?” He asked me, “Or slow?”

It was his keen ability in giving me tough choices that made me long for him to commence all the more; each option sparking an unmatched desire for both, but more so just for anything; no matter how hard or soft, fast or slow, withholding or providing, coition with Quincey was yet to be matched by any experience of mine, and so in a feeble attempt to answer his question, I merely breathed out a repetition of my request:-

“Fuck me, Quincey…”

Then, he bit his own lip, pulling me closer to his body with his strong hands, drifting them down to hook beneath my thighs and pull me on top of his lap. For the first time, I was above him; usually he was the one to be staring down on me with his tall physique, and so on this occasion, _I_ was the one who was looking down at _his_ beautiful face; the absolute image of perfection in my eyes. And then I felt him, and my body melted in his arms, that stiff tip pressing against my entrance, tempting me to rock back and commence what we both wanted. But I knew better than to give into impetuousness. I heard his soft laugh and the quiet thudding of his beating heart. My palm pressed on his chest to feel it beneath my fingertips, and the second I closed my eyes in the darkness, his hips bucked up to push himself in, letting a mighty grunt escape from him. 

The hands returned to my hips, each one pressing in to hold me there, above him, his thumbs mere inches away from the base of my length and teasing the sensitive skin near my groin with impossible precision, starting to rub softly as I began to push myself down on him and synchronise with his upwards thrusts. He grinned as a moan gasped out of me, a bright flash of his pearls in the moonlight, and he began his perfect rhythm, proving to me once again how he truly was consummate in love making. He groaned beneath me, panting as his pumping heart quickening its pace by the second, and I thought then, how cruelly divine it would be to taunt him more, to excite him, to make those dark pupils dilate wider and draw him closer to completion. So, I asked through my gasping breaths a crucial question:-

“What if Arthur were to walk in, this very moment?”

And he did indeed look up to me, with the same face, I imagine, that I myself might express if he asked me the same question; eyes wide, mouth agape and the corners of those lips tugging up in the slightest degree. There was a certain hope in those eyes too, almost as if the prospect of the two of us being caught made it all the more exciting to him, and so he drove in harder, hitting my gland with an effortlessness that made me hiss his name and grit my teeth. He grunted again and laughed out:-

“Well, Jack, we’d certainly be fucked, wouldn’t we?”

Double entendres were always something that Quincey could let loose when he was feeling particularly audacious; a certain witticism in his playful tone and speech that conveyed to me his brilliant boldness. And as I rocked my hips, my length that rut against his stomach was then held into his delicate grip, his warm palm starting to do what it did best; tugging my skin with such a divine carefulness that I couldn’t help but thrust myself into it as it closed around me in a soft, snug grip. 

My lids fluttered, and between my lashes I saw his libidinous joy one more time before I finished onto his white cotton shirt, shuddering in his arms and whimpering. My concern for volume was not a value I held at all in that moment, for I was sure there wasn’t a chance Art could hear from across the house, and even if he could, my mind was not in a state to pay that problematic possibility any interest. 

He finished not long after myself, his hands roaming beneath my shirt and across my chest, his teeth digging into his soft lips that smiled all the while until the moment he spilled himself inside of me and those teeth bared themselves in a grimace of released pleasure.

Our breaths, subsequently, came out hot and ragged thereafter, the two of us just staring at each other under our heavy lids, his palm coming up to rest on my cheek and gently trace a thumb on my bottom lip. It drifted lightly from there to my neck, then my shoulder, then across my torso again to rest on my waist. A final squeeze of my flesh, and then his lips latched onto mine to soothe us through the afterglow, humming and moaning against one other’s mouths until he finally pulled himself away.

I fingered the hem of his spoiled shirt and demurely whispered:-

“Have you had a good evening, Quincey?”

He laughed, tongue darting out between his teeth, and then pouted and raised his eyebrows, replying:-

“A very good evening, thanks to you, Jack…” And after a pause, he continued, “What say you an’ I get some much-needed shut eye? Hm?”

I took myself off of his lap and lay beside him onto the sheets, the first thing to cross my mind being their warmth and comfort in contrast to the ones in my own room, how fresh and perfectly yielding they were, ready to envelop me into a sleep. It made me all the more glad to have arrived at his door and turned the handle, and then, when his strong arms snaked their way across my waist and held me tight, I couldn’t have been any happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
